


let a gentleman see just how nice a dame you can be

by Caracalliope



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anger, Ex Sex, Other, Pining, Protectiveness, Rescue, Sex Under Duress, Surveillance, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-08-18 19:14:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20196679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caracalliope/pseuds/Caracalliope
Summary: [AU: Juno wasn't able to reconnect with Jet and Buddy at the end of s2. Instead, he and Rita set out to find Dr. Hanataba.]Thurnwell wanted me to entertain her special guest, and she did mean ‘entertain’. I had to do it alluringly enough to get the guest inspired to sign whatever deal Thurnwell was planning.So… this goes to show two things. First, some mob bosses really do get through life driven by blind optimism, with no sense of how to manage their human resources. And second, I was going to have to blow my cover and probably die.





	let a gentleman see just how nice a dame you can be

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sombregods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sombregods/gifts).

> Dear sombregods, I loved your prompts and list of likes so much. I hope this works for you!

It wasn’t the first time I was invited to a soiree like this one, but it was the first time I had to try to behave myself. The ballroom had that artificial shimmer that told you that they had cameras everywhere. I was just one of the things Thurnwell's lackeys had to keep an eye on.

Thurnwell herself held me by the neck, squeezing hard while harried waiters rushed past us, setting everything up. “Let me make one thing clear, Steel. If you fuck this up for me, I am going to make you pay, and then hunt down everyone you ever talked to and make them pay double. _Double_.”

“Hmph,” I said, as soon as I got my breath back.

Every organized crime bigwig talks the same way, and I was glad to see that this was a constant across the galaxy. But back home, I had a better frame of reference for the bigwigs who kept threatening me. Out here on the outer solar rim, I didn't know a thing. That was probably why Thurnwell managed to capture me in the first place. Did she really care enough about a two-bit nuisance like me to hurt Rita, Mick Mercury, and the handful of other people who had the bad luck to be my... friends? Probably not. Was I going to risk it? Also probably not.

My name is Juno Steel, ex-Private Eye. I’m chasing a kindly ghost with a medical degree all across the galaxy. Thurnwell was my captor and she was trying very hard to use me in ways not fit for a lady. And the only reason I got out of it in one piece - well, I'm told that the key to succeeding in the thievery business is great timing.

* * *

Like I said, the ball was under more surveillance than most prisons I know. Everyone there knew it, too. But maybe that’s just what the rich are like when they’re among themselves - mouths full of lies and eyes full of terror, glowing and vibrating like moon-cicadas.

I didn’t get a mask, and neither did the waitstaff. Thurnwell, who was dressed as a pegasus in silver and purple, wasn’t all that interested in making things seem egalitarian. Considering the way her guests harangued the waiters, I assumed the party would just be filled with like-minded people.

I had a role to fulfill there. Thurnwell wanted me to entertain her special guest, and she did mean ‘entertain’. I had to do it alluringly enough to get the guest inspired to sign whatever deal Thurnwell was planning.

So… this goes to show two things. First, some mob bosses really do get through life driven by blind optimism, with no sense of how to manage their human resources. And second, I was going to have to blow my cover and probably die.

It wasn’t much of a cover, really. As far as Thurnwell knew, I was a one-eyed loser who was desperate to get to Dr. Hanataba, desperate enough to make deals with scumbags. This wasn’t, you know, untrue. Except that she caught me trying to hightail it off Neptune with her data set, and I had to make up some story about how Hanataba scammed me out of my life savings and I was just trying to find her and get her to take pity on me and install a new eye. It was the right kind of lie because it validated Thurnwell's views on Hanataba. She laughed and said “Nobody’s that generous!”.Some people are way too cynical.

But yeah, I missed my rendezvous with Rita even though I managed to get the data set sent to her while I was stalling with my sob story. Thurnwell roughed me up, then sent her goons to rough me up some more, then kept me on lockdown until she found a way to find a better use of me than making an example of me in some town square. I still have no idea why she thought I was the right person to sweeten up some business mogul. Unexplored cyclops kink, maybe?

Look, it wasn’t really the sex that was the problem. Working with Valles Vicky, I stood in for a vixen once or twice when I was younger, and it went as smoothly as these things ever go for me. But Vicky vetted the ladies and gents and others that I slept with - okay, so it was more than twice - and while they were rich (which is better proof of being shady than having an official criminal record), they were on the right side of the moral horizon, mostly. Vicky told me their history and I didn’t find anything to object to.

But if Thurnwell’s business partner was anything like Thurnwell, sleeping with them would turn my stomach. I had no better ideas that to go along with it, keeping my eyes peeled for an opportunity.

Opportunity sashayed in wearing a magenta evening gown. The mask they had on was abstract, white and gold, evoking a bird but not in an obvious way like having feathers or a beak. It also covered their entire face, and I had to assume there was some high-tech ocular installation involved, because the mask was totally solid where the eye holes were supposed to be.

“This is Mr. Shatter," Thurnwell said. "He's the gentleman you'll be charming tonight, Steel." Charming? What a ridiculous euphemism that was. I looked at this Shatter, but he didn't react.

_Well_, I thought, _time to test some waters_. On Mars, the best way to test the waters is to dare the smallest kid to jump into the bog. If they never come back out, the bog's not filled with water.

“I thought we established that charm wasn't one of my personal strengths, Thurnwell,” I said, aiming for that perfect balance between a jibe and a whine.

“Ha, ha,” Thurnwell said, fixing her terrawatt smile on her guest, like I had said something too precious - and, in fact, charming - for words.

Then she slapped me. Right under the vacant eye socket, and hard enough to echo. I actually fell to the ground, and I blame the malnourishment for that.

In my line of work, you get smacked around a lot. It's not fun, but at least they usually give you the courtesy of doing it with intent. They recognize that you’re a mean bastard, and they want to prove they’re meaner.

But Thurnwell's slap was casual, like she knew I'd get back up on my feet and smile at her. She could do what she wanted - it was her ball room, her planet, and I was hers too.

I never liked getting slapped like that.

Shatter stepped between me and Thurnwell, and offered me his hand. _Guess Rita was right_, I thought. _They raise gentlemen down here on Neptune._

“Well, well, Mr. Shatter,” Thurnwell said, “have you taken a liking to my grouchy little kitten?”

Shatter’s fingers, solid on my wrist, tightened for a moment, though he wasn’t gripping hard enough to hurt. Somehow, there was comfort in that touch.

“Guess he’s not the talking type, Thurnwell,” I said. I wanted to see if she'd still try to hit me with her guest holding my hand.

She didn't get the chance to, because Shatter yanked me closer and then towards the buffet table.

“Gently, gently, please,” Thurnwell said. “Do as you like with him but I expect him back in one piece.”

He turned his sightless face towards her, and I was happy to see her recoil. I probably should have been unnerved too, but I wasn't yet. I figured I had a brief window before I annoyed him into violence or found out what the fuck kind of immoral empire he ran that Thurnwell wanted to get a piece of. Maybe I had like 15-20 minutes for this to be fun instead of painful or soul-killing.

Shatter escorted me to the food, which was an okay way to start the night. Except, then he placed a piece of salmon in my mouth. It was totally inferior to Rita's 100% fish-free plant-free "Salmon" Snacks, and Shatter's smooth gloves were a cold, awkward presence on my tongue. I pulled back, and I really wanted to point out that I didn't go in for this kind of romance junk even with people I liked.

Pointedly, he opened his mouth, a perfect oval forming at the front of his mask. Just as pointedly, I ignored him. He could eat his own damn squishy fish.

His exasperated sigh made me think my 20 minute window was slamming shut already. He grabbed my hand, didn't let me shake him off. Without any snacks to act as intermediaries, he shoved two of my fingers into his haunting, lipless mouth.

I recognized the needle points of his canines, the gentle press of incisors against the pad of my thumb. And then it snapped into place - the sharpness of his fingers on my wrist, familiar over layers of glove and sleeve. How did I miss it the first time? Even through the mask, I should have recognized him. The man whose name I had lost the right to use.

I stepped back a little, squared my shoulders. I didn’t know exactly how well Thurnwell's devices would pick up my reaction. For a wild moment, I missed the THEIA and the thrill of having more info than anyone else.

“Do you have any plans for the night, Mr. Shatter?” I said instead. “I hope I won’t disappoint you."

"I'm not an easy man to disappoint - ah, Steel, was it? Only very exceptional people have had that pleasure."

The mask altered his beautiful voice so heavily that I probably wouldn't have recognized it. But the coldness in it felt unaltered, and totally deserved.

"Ms. Thurnwell will definitely hear about any complaints you may have while on Neptune," I said. He knew we were watched, but I still wanted to make it clear there was nowhere we could talk.

"Don't worry so much," he drawled, and he sounded nearly like himself. "I'm sure you'll make the effort to be an unexceptional - and unexceptionable! - companion during our time together."

I had two good reasons not to huff in response to that. I did anyway. He put his hand between my shoulder blades and said, "Show me the sights, Steel." I wished he'd hug me or punch me, but this was what I was getting, so I leaned into his touch through my tacky silk waistcoat and then guided him to the nearest plasma fountain.

It was torture, showing him the mediocre sights a mediocre megalomaniac's household could offer. I could imagine him dealing with assholes like Thurnwell habitually, scamming them and then not botching the escape plan like I did. If Thurnwell threatened all the people he knows, he'd just laugh in her face and disappear anyway. I wished I could ask what kind of deal he was planning.

I was just here to help Dr. Hanataba. I didn’t know how I got myself in that deep and I didn’t know how I was going to get myself out of it, unless he let me catch a ride on the pink-and-gold hem of his gown.

"I appreciate your companionship, Steel," he said after I was done making shit up about the art on the walls, "though I can only have it for this short time. I would like to speak to your employer."

Shamelessly, Thurnwell popped up within a matter of minutes.

"Mr. Shatter! Mr. Shatter, has my kitten behaved himself?"

"Indeed, indeed," said 'Shatter', and his usual honeyed contempt was masked heavily by the voice distortion. "I'm not usually a man who stays in one place for long, but Steel here has given me a reason to break that habit."

Fleetingly, she looked surprised, then her face smoothed into satisfaction.

"I hope you will let me take Steel on a joyride in my day flier," he said. "Just a small vessel, you understand, to see the local sights, and then I will be happy to look over any papers that need signing."

"Of course!" I was surprised Thurnwell agreed to it so easily, and then I saw in her face that there was a catch. "Of course. You can take my steely kitten anywhere you like, but I _must_ insist you take him for a test ride first. To prevent any, ah, disappointments. I'll have someone set you up a guest room."

I was happy the mask hid his real reaction. I wished I could have someplace to hide my face - like in his bony shoulder - but I tried to stare ahead and look blank. That's a cop academy skill I rarely get to use, and I was rusty as hell.

Like all those times before, he picked up the slack for me. "I'm afraid I'm not interested in anything carnal," he said, in a robo-apologetic monotone. "You see, I had a bad breakup not too long ago, and to fill that void with a cheap imitation - with all due respect to Mr. Steel here - would be an unthinkable affront."

Thurnwell's smile only got colder, and the shimmering around us grew. "I'm sure you're a true desperate romantic, Mr. Shatter. A dying breed! However, those are the terms I will agree to. If you're uninterested in sleeping with him, I don't see what he could possibly offer on a 'joyride'." She didn't double her words this time, and she also didn't let the smile drop.

He stayed silent, which I thought wasn't all that fair. He could have told her he liked my knowledge of art history.

"I don't appreciate this intrusion into my personal life, Ms. Thurnwell," he said. "If you're not interested in my terms, I will take my leave now."

I'm not really prone to panic - okay, _during missions_, I'm not prone to panic - but when he turned his back to me, I wanted to beg him to stay. I wondered whether that was what he wanted from me, but at the same time, I wondered whether I had any right to do so. I stayed quiet, like a good pet cat.

"Back to your chamber, then, kitten," Thurnwell said, and it didn't sound like she was bluffing. Her hand tightened on my elbow, and in the periphery of my vision, I saw a few discreet goons show up, probably there to make sure I came quietly.

"Oh, well done, Ms. Thurnwell," Nureyev chuckled - recognizably my Nureyev, in spite of the distortion. I really hoped the fury in his voice wasn't just my imagination. "I appreciate a firm host who stands by her principles. If Steel is amenable, I will take you up on your very generous offer."

"He's amenable," she said.

"I'm amenable," I added. Thurnwell shoved me at him, hard. "Mr. Shatter, I'll do anything - no, you know what? I _won't_ do anything that will remind you of your ex, okay? Whoever they were, I bet there's some things they never got to do for you."

"I suppose there were some uncharted territories left between us," he said. "Ms. Thurnwell, are you planning to be present at this consummation? Of a _splendid _evening, I mean, not the deal between you and me."

"Of course not," Thurnwell lied - I was sure she would watch every minute, if only through a monitor. "You'll have your privacy. I promise it will help cure your romantic problems. Remember that you can get rough with this one!"

I held back a scoff with great effort. Whatever he was about to do to me (for the cameras, or just in general), rough wasn't going to be the hard part. I pressed against his side, which might not have been fair to him or to me, but it kept Thurnwell happy, at least.

"Forgive me, dear Steel," Nureyev sighed, and didn't shake me off when Thurnwell's attention turned to her goons. "I will require a quick stop at the refreshment table. Sobriety is a virtue but it is becoming less appealing by the second."

* * *

I was sure that the bedroom prepared for us was more thoroughly bugged than the Kanagawa Big Sibling house. I knew Nureyev knew it too, because when he passed through the door, he took one of my hands, and kissed it.

If there was a background reason for him to keep going along with Thurnwell's power trip, I couldn't see what it was. My instincts have never been great when it came to him - not in the beginning and not ultimately - but they all told me he was trying to help me out. Even if he took his revenge on me along the way, I couldn't blame him... But that didn't feel like what he was doing.

I led him to the fluffy white bed, sat him down. I wouldn't have done this for anyone else, but with him, I knew what to do. I knelt down in front of him, and reached for his shoes.

"I'm perfectly capable of taking my shoes off, Steel," he said, and it was closer to a snap than I'd expected. I wanted the stupid mask off of him. He had a perfect poker face, but this was even worse than that.

"Yeah," I said. "Sure, um, sir or whatever, but I need to do _some_thing around here, right?"

He froze and then leaned back. "Fine," he said. "Do whatever you feel is convenient for you."

Stuck midway between regret and spite, I lifted the edge of his dress. He had sandals on, intricate and gold, with straps and buckles everywhere, like a snakey math problem that went all the way up to his knees. They were the kind of shoes you'd need an hour and a personal servant to take off, and I suppose Nureyev had both of those right now. 

But I knew him. _As much as he loves being hot_, I thought, _he likes making a quick escape more_. I ran a palm up the back of his thigh, caressing all that smooth strength and eliciting a sigh that crackled ungracefully through his vocal synthesizer. I found the single tiny button at the back of his right knee, and all the buckles snapped open at the same time.

"Very impressive, Steel," he said, just like I'd opened a marshbeartrap or freed us from captivity. "I hope this wasn't a skill born from experience."

"Huh? No, I'm, uh, new at this job."

"Excellent. I have to tell you, it can be refreshing to spend time with an amateur."

It was weird, as barbs went, and I unbuttoned his other sandal as well. I took his shoes off, and then, out of a lack of any better ideas, ran my palms up his shins again. Nureyev wasn't taking the lead, and the cameras were fixed on us both.

"No," he muttered when I started lifting his dress to get to those thighs. (I was hoping to find weapons there. And, well, I'd missed them.) "I simply cannot, Steel, have mercy."

"Anything you want, Mr. Shatter," I reminded him. "Just tell me. I'm not a mind-reader anymore."

It was probably too much, making a joke like that when we were both being watched. But it seemed to help Nureyev get his focus back, and he placed his hand on my shoulder, in a way that was both familiar and startling.

"First," he said, "I'd like you up here on this extremely white bed that no doubt shows every last wrinkle and stain."

I lay down where he directed me to, on my back on the mountain of pillows. He had a good point about the sheets leaving us with even less privacy than the cameras. But I had to stay in character as myself-except-unluckier, so I beckoned him close, and whispered directly into his ear, "Ms. Thurnwell likes keeping her household all in white." I didn't know if it was low enough to avoid the bugs - probably not. But if I got into trouble with her the next morning, at least I'd have valuable intel about her security levels.

"I noticed," he whispered back. At this volume, the voice distortion didn't make much of a difference. It was like being back in our shared cell, trading stories to keep sane between bouts of torture. "Yourself, her waiters, the large ladies and gentlepeople with the discreet weaponry... all in white, yes."

"I think she likes it when her employees are easy to shoot from a distance." He snickered into my shoulder, and I thought, yeah, this was a fine exchange for us to have. Shatter and Steel, talking shit about our host. My hand rested on the spiky hair at the back of his neck.

"My dear Steel," he said, whispering just as low. "I don't know how to make this less inconvenient for you."

"I'm not," I said, and then more quietly. "It isn't. Whatever you think is the best thing to do - I'm on board, okay? I want you to decide." And then more loudly and for the cameras, "I'm here to make you feel at home."

In the past, when we made love, I was unsurprised by his intensity, and shocked by his tenderness. I could never shake the memory of his kisses along my eyebrows, my jawline. He was good at everything, so of course he was good at sex, but there was something all-encompassing about it, like he had no shame or hesitation, like he wanted to know everything about me.

Yeah. In Thurnwell's bed in her sleazy panopticon, Nureyev did the opposite of that. Somehow, he still made me feel cared for.

He barely touched me at all, hovering above me while his arms bracketed my shoulders. He kissed me on the lips, with that mask of his keeping us apart. He didn't want to touch me at all, and it could have been resentment or revulsion, but it didn't feel like either of those things. He felt like a _gentleman_, trying not to importune me with his touches. I wanted to reach up and grab him, but I'd promised I'd let him decide how to play this.

Through his smooth dress and my fancy trousers, I could feel his cock brushing against my thigh. I parted my legs just a little, just a suggestion, but he wouldn't even stop to get lube. Instead, he just rubbed up against me, like a teenager who wasn't sure what he was doing. I didn't know what to feel, except that I liked being tended to, and I hated that I couldn't see his eyes. He achieved a rhythm, brushing against my legs.

"Please move away," he said, clipped. "I would hate to leave marks on your uniform."

There was something bleak and miserable about the way he phrased that, but I did roll to the side. Nureyev jerked himself off, skirt pulled out of the way and black lace underwear unceremoniously tugged down. He aimed for the middle of the immaculate bed. The spectacle could have been hot, but it was angry instead, I thought, he just looked so angry. I wondered if Thurnwell was watching it from her station, wondered whether she thought it would hurt or help the deal.

I was hard too, yeah. Somehow, it didn't seem to matter.

"Thank you, Steel," Nureyev announced. He wasn't actually speaking to me. "I may be a desperate romantic, but now I am a sated one as well."

"Happy to help!" I hated the thought of getting back on that bed, but the night was still so, so young.

"Now," Nureyev said, turning to face me. "Now, it is time for a true indulgence - one of the spirit, not of the flesh. There is something my ex and I would do when we were in a bad situation."

_Fuck_, I thought_, were we ever in a good one?_

He sat and then lay down on the floor. I thought of that Martian tomb/breeding cell, and the way we'd curl up near each other even when I was filled with paranoia and doubt. I lay down next to him, skin to skin, and thought about how much I missed those catacombs. Thurnwell's carpeted floor just couldn't compare. Nureyev put an arm around me. Maybe he just wanted to make sure I was still there in the morning. Maybe that thought was conceited, in more ways than one.

We didn't talk, and we took turns sleeping. I could feel when he dozed off because the tension in his arm slackened. I loved the weight of him against my body, and I wondered if the mask was causing him discomfort.

We woke silently and walked on down to the ballroom silently. He held my wrist the whole time.

"Morning, morning!" Thurnwell said, cheery and cold. I wondered if she had anyone in her own bed last night, and decided I didn't want to know. "I trust my Steel was satisfactory?"

"Yes," Nureyev said. Then, after a beat and more gushingly, "I couldn't possibly be more satisfied, and I'm looking forward to our trip. There are so many more things we are yet to try."

"I'll say," she said, and I didn't like her tone. "A deal's a deal, so of course you can take him with you. I'll even provide an escort for you - again, I insist."

"Understandable," Nureyev cooed. "Can we go right away or is there a protocol we must follow?"

"Right away, right away," she said. She gestured to four of her goons, and we were escorted down to one of her white cars.

I kind of expected they'd turn on us, but we got to the docks in one piece. Nureyev's mask was still on, so we got our fair share of stares. But the all-white uniforms told the average Neptunite that it was better to move on and mind their own business. Even here, in the middle of the crowd, we could both get executed without causing a commotion.

Nureyev held on to my hand as he walked me to the stationed day fliers. Positioned all in a row, there was something satisfying about them. I realized I was subconsciously searching for an airborne version of the Ruby 7.

"Which flier is ours?" I asked it quietly, with the goons lagging behind.

"The purple one up ahead," Nureyev murmured. But the only purple thing in my field of vision was -

"That's a starship." As in, a ticket off of Neptune and out of Thurnwell's grasp. I kept my pace steady, but my adrenaline levels jumped through the roof.

"My dear detective, with observation skills like that, you should consider a career in law enforcement. Now, at the count of seven, please do run?"

I squeezed his hand and listened to his countdown. It could get me shot in the back of the head, but I trusted this man.

On the count of seven, we started running. On the count of eight, he looked over his shoulders, golden rays shooting from his mask. I heard a grunt and thud behind us. Three goons left to go, and the eyes of Nureyev's mask burst out new rays.

I kept my mind on running. I wasn't fully healed from the beatings I got at Thurnwell's - like a burst of lightning, it occurred to me that Nureyev must have noticed the bruises, last night - but I ignored the pain and focused on running. I reached the spaceship unharmed. Nureyev was a few seconds behind me, and we ducked inside and sealed the door.

"I can't believe they let you wear that thing to the ball," I said, reaching for the mask. Nureyev let me take it off of him.

"Well, I'm afraid Ms. Thurnwell's security team is as inept as her caterers. Ah -"

Then, the smell of it hit me. The strap of his dress was burned away, and there was an angry red burn mark on his left shoulder. "Seems Neptunian stunners are more zealous than the ones on your home planet, Juno."

Unwittingly, I put my hand on his other shoulder, to steady him. We stood like that for a few seconds, and then he pulled away.

"I need to take care of this," he said. "Please, step into that incinerator, it will take care of your abysmal suit and any bugs Ms. Thurnwell might have planted on it."

I did as he told me, and didn't offer to help with the shoulder. He had a med kit for that.

By the time the incinerator was done, there were clothes laid out for me and Nureyev was nowhere to be seen. The outfit was my size and my color, because he pays attention to that. As much as I tried to find a framing where his presence on Neptune was a lucky accident, all the clues pointed in a different direction.

I found him sitting at a desk while a med bot worked on his shoulder. He didn't invite me to sit, so I didn't, but I didn't clear off either.

“How did you know where I was?” I asked.

“Rita told me.”

“Rita tracked you down?”

“No, detective. I tracked her down after some mutual acquaintances told me you were in trouble.”

“So… uh, did you gals get along?”

“Rita is a delight as always.” His voice was sharp and cold, a pair of icicles thrust right through the throat. God, I missed him.

“Listen, after this… I’ll owe you big time, okay?”

“You’ll _owe_ me?” He jerked back, hard enough that the med bot stopped working. "What, exactly, are you planning to owe me? Is that a threat or a promise, detective? Will you pay me back for traveling across the galaxy to save you from a Neptunite shareholder you had no business getting mixed up with? _Or_, will you pay me back for forcing you to have sex with me after you've made it starlight clear you're not interested in that?"

Everything about that was wrong, and I felt frozen, so I said the stupidest thing I possibly could, given the circumstances. "Come on, that was barely sex, and you know it."

A part of me hoped he'd slap me (with intent), but Nureyev slumped back, and laughed, incredulous. Yeah, my stupidest statements have that effect on people. The med bot went back to work.

"I'm sorry," I said, "okay? I just wanted you to know that. And I owe you as much as you say I do."

"You don't owe me anything, my dear detective. Least of all your gratitude.” His voice was tired now. I thought, maybe, maybe I could work with tired.

“That's good, I really suck at gratitude, ask anybody. Ask Rita. Also, I'm, you know, not a detective anymore.”

Nureyev startled, and that poor med bot pulled away again.

“Juno," he said, gravely. "I do hope you don’t mean to tell me you’ve taken up escorting. I’m afraid you’d be abysmal at it.”

“Hmph! Vicky has a ratings page that says otherwise. Anyway - no, I’m, uh, I don’t know. Guess I decided to become a doctor’s assistant.”

“This Hanataba left such an impression on you?” I loved having his eyes on me.

“I guess you can say that.”

“Well, I am - happy for you, Juno Steel. I didn’t think it was possible for you to find something to love more than Hyperion City. If this doctor earned that, she must truly be -”

“I mean, it helps that my city’s totally wrecked.”

“Sorry?” Yeah, the med bot just shut down at that point. Nureyev never used to be this twitchy before.

“Yeah, Hyperion City’s, uh, not my city anymore. Oldtown’s gone, almost every person I knew there got their life turned around. I’ve got Rita with me, and Mick picks up my calls every time, and Khan does too because he’s too kind not to I guess, but there’s nothing - nothing back there anymore. That I want to go home to.” My voice sounded panicky in my ears, like I was begging for something. Nureyev’s eyes were wide, fixed on my face.

“And Hanataba?”

“Dr. Hanataba isn’t - I mean, she’s not like, the next stop, or a new obsession, or - I was joking about becoming her assistant, okay. Except literally, like short-term, because I do want to help her. Just, god, Nureyev, the things I’ve seen -” His name slipped out without my permission, and I expected him to rebuff me for it, like he did in my hallucination.

Instead, Peter Nureyev reached out with his uninjured arm, and squeezed one of my hands.

“I’ve heard that you found yourself entrapped by a THEIA creation,” he said, and his voice trembled in a way I definitely wasn't used to.

“You - you heard that, huh. From that ‘mutual acquaintance’, who happens not to be Rita.”

“Precisely. And I would - that is to say, I don’t wish to cross any lines, dear detective. But if you decide to go after the person who caused you that kind of suffering, I would be happy to hold them down for you.” His fox teeth gleamed at me, and I couldn't look away.

“I - thanks, Nureyev. But he’s very, very dead."

"_Good._" He exhaled, and the unburned strap on his dress was slipping off. I reached forward to put it back. Nureyev let me do it.

"I'm looking for Hanataba because I want to understand what the hell happened with the THEIAs and with your GAS, and just - I want to know, to help. But here's the thing. I don't know if Rita told you, or the acquaintance."

"What's the thing, Juno Steel?" He asked it solemnly, maybe a little choked.

"I'm kind of done thinking I know best. I've _never _known best, and I rarely even know better, and I'm tired of knowing good. So, you know - I still want to find her? But if you've got other ideas, I'm happy to listen."

It was presumptuous and awkward all at once, but I knew he understood what I meant. I didn't think he'd offer me gleaming cities again, nor the two of us against the world. But I'd take anything he had for me, whether it was information, benediction, a goodbye, or a second chance.

"I think... to start with, Juno Steel, I think you should bandage my shoulder." He turned his back towards me, and bowed his head, and hope rose in me, gleaming and irrepressible like a starship.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Luck, Be a Lady.


End file.
